


second nature

by ghettoblasterz



Category: Merrily We Roll Along - Sondheim/Furth
Genre: :/, Daddy Issues, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Therapy, charley loves lying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:00:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28851723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoblasterz/pseuds/ghettoblasterz
Summary: charley does not like his therapist.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	second nature

"Charley? Hello?"

Charley blinked back into focus. "Sorry."

He felt like an idiot. Why did he even bother coming? Every week was the same. He made zero progress, said nothing groundbreaking, and drained his wallet with each session. All for what? For ridicule?

"You can't ignore me at your own session," his therapist smiled (what the hell was his name???). "Well, you can. It'd just be a waste of both of our times, right?"

"Yeah."

"So tell me, what's going on this week, friend?"

_ Do they pay you extra to call me that? _

"Not much," Charley said. He crossed his leg over the other and folded his hands onto his knees, pulling back. The pressure was comforting.

"Really?"

"No, not really."

"There's no need to lie. Tell me everything you can."

He hated the guy's voice. It was hoarse, but not low, and resounded through the room much louder than his own, like he was delivering a speech through a microphone. The bastard shrink sounded just like his father. Charley didn't want to think about his father, not even for a moment. Especially not after this week.

The man was probably as old as his father, too. Pushing seventy, ripened by hatred. Sitting with a know-it-all glare and a notebook clutched between his hardened, blocky hands. 

The shrink shifted in the silence. Charley didn't look at him, but heard his khakis whir together in a faint  _ zip _ .

"How's Frank, Charley? Is Frank okay?"

"Frank is…" Charley trailed off.

Lying was too exhausting, but second nature. He needed to keep a tally of how many times a lie slipped between his lips as easily as a bar of soap on wet linoleum. The number would be  _ astronomical. _

"I don't know how he is. The guy will barely talk to me."

"How come?"

"I dunno."

_ Counting earlier, that makes two. _

Charley screwed his eyes shut. "No, that's not true. He hates me. He really, really hates me."

"And why would he hate you? You two sounded fine last week."

_ Because I was lying. _

"Because I told him two days ago I didn't like the stupid song he wrote for this stupid show stupid Joe Josephson optioned us to write for his stupid wife and Frank got all sorts of pissy." 

"Mm."

"And then yesterday I stopped by in the morning to write while he was in the shower and he could've  _ sworn _ I was ogling him when he came out of the bathroom."

"Well, were you?"

Charley shrugged. "I...I don't know."

_ Three. _

He felt the shrink staring into his soul. "Or  _ would  _ you, rather?"

"Pardon?"

"Do you have homosexual tendencies, Mr. Kringas?"

Now he was serious. He never pulled  _ Mr. Kringas  _ out of his ass often.

All he could think about was his father.

Charley scoffed. "We've been over this, doctor."

"Things change every week with you. I can never be sure."

Charley imagined having this conversation with his father. He imagined the look of terror and disgust on his father's face as the question came out--not a question, really. An accusation.

"Sure. Y--yes, yes I do. But Frank is different." He sounded unsure of himself.

_ Four. _

"Different how?"

"I could never even dream of a guy like Frank."

"Because he's unattractive?"

"What?  _ Lord  _ no. The fact that he's stunning is the one thing everyone in the western hemisphere can agree on," Charley laughed. "No, no. Having word get out that the lyricist has a thing for the composer is generally something you'd like to avoid in the industry."

"I wouldn't know," the shrink remarked, jotting something down on his notepad.

"You can make a guess."

The shrink cleared his throat. "Does Frank know about any of this?"

"He has his suspicions. He's chosen not to know."

"Do you think that's the best course of action?"

"Of course."

"Why?"

"He's fairly certain, but I've yet to be confronted about it. I'm not a confrontational guy, you know."

"Fair enough. And are you planning on talking to him about it?"

"Absolutely not."

"Fear of rejection?"

Charley glared at him. "More than that. My whole career--my whole  _ friendship  _ could be decimated. All with as little as three words. Isn't that crazy? People say words can't hurt like sticks and stones or whatever, but they can clearly do something. All that fuss over a few words."

"It's more than words though, isn't it?" the shrink asked. "A small amount of words telling a much bigger story. Coming out as a homosexual or...or whatever else you're referencing is an upsetting thing."

"I guess so." Charley shrugged. "Wish it wasn't."

"To each is their own."

Charley's heart now steadily pounded in his chest, a little too fast for comfort. He could vividly picture his father looming over him, muttering the words "coming out as a homosexual...is an upsetting thing.".

His arms were tightly folded; he was as stiff as a statue. 

He stared down at him with a furrowed brow. He knew. Charley could just...feel it.

It was like he was there, sitting on the moth-ball stinking couch in the living room. His father stood before him, blocking out the light from the overhead fan like an eclipse.

"Say it isn't true, son," Mr. Kringas would huff. Charley shuttered as the imaginary words hit his ears. "For the love of God, say you're lying."

Charley would freeze. His lip would tremble as he, for the first time in his life, would reply, "No, Father. No, I'm not lying."

"Charley--Charley, are you ignoring me again?" his shrink barked.

"Huh?" Charley jolted. "Sorry. Lost in thought."

"I'll say. May we continue?"

"Mhm."

The shrink sighed, tapping his pen on the rim of his notebook. "Do you have anything else for me this week besides homosexuality?"

Charley pursed his lips. A lie threatened to slip out.

"Charley?"

"I called my father this week," he said, quickly, so he couldn't stop himself.

"Is that so?" the shrink smiled. "Well, isn't that an improvement!"

_ No, no it isn't. _

"It was my birthday. I called to tell him I wish I could come visit but I'm all sorts of behind on work for that shit musical. He just asked me about Frank. The guy wanted to know if Frank could come see him soon. What the hell do I say to that? I mean, am I just an extension of Frank?"

"To some people...unfortunately. That's the life of a musical partner. I think."

"But to my own  _ father _ ?"

The shrink shrugged. "What did you say to him?"

"I froze. I waited for him to finish, then I asked about Mom. He told me nothing's improved, but it could be worse. I said okay. Fine. Whatever. Don't know why I bothered asking. So I asked him about my brothers and sisters, got the same answer. He didn't want to talk to me, clearly. So I said goodbye and hung up."

"Maybe he was just in a mood," the shrink said.

"The man's been in a mood since the day I emerged from the womb, Doctor. The only guy who can get him out of it is...It's Frank."

"Why don't you use that to your advantage?"

"What's the point?" Charley rubbed his knees. "What, for temporary satisfaction? My father doesn't love me, and I don't need to puppeteer Frank to try to get him to pretend otherwise. Besides, Frank loves my father. I couldn't ruin that for him."

"When did those two get close?"

"Oh, since we were little. Frank was my father's star-student. Frank couldn't be around his own father, not after his mother left. The guy's a nutcase drunk who beat the hell out of him each night. He should be allowed to have  _ someone  _ after all that. Even if my own father enjoys his company more than mine, I refuse to take that away from him. I don't blame either of them for it, either. I'm an irreparably bad son, but I can still be a good friend to Frank."

He pictured Frank telling his father that Charley was a homosexual. A stupid thought, but a poignant one.

The smell of cheap beer ingested in bulk. The clank of his belt buckle. A thunderous smack.

Charley held his eyes open. The image prevailed when he blinked, and it made his skin crawl.

His shrink was waiting in the unbearably pregnant silence. Charley could hear his breath laboring impatiently under his own.

"I don't like to wish harm on people," Charley started in a quiet voice, "but if I could go back in time and fix one thing, just one thing on this earth, I would go to Frank's house--when we were kids--step up to his dear old dad, and cut out his tongue. And wedge it down his throat until he chokes on it. I don't care if I ended up arrested. It wouldn't be the first time...or the last time, probably. Frank deserved better than that deadbeat father. I should've done something."

His shrink was scribbling again. "Violent. That's a new one."

"Oh, fuck you."

"Excuse me?"

"As if you wouldn't do the same. Don't look at me like that. I'm not paying you to stare at me."

The shrink sighed. "Alright, Charley."

"I'll cut out anyone's tongue. I don't care. You...you shouldn't be allowed to parent with a Pabst in one hand and a belt in the other."

Another note. The sound of the tip of the pen on the paper was nauseating. "Parenting...How are your kids, Charley? Does your wife know you're a queer?"

"I'd prefer not to talk about it," Charley said.

_ Five. _

"Charley, I--" he glanced at his watch and huffed a sigh of relief-- "Mm. Time's up. Lucky day, isn't it?"

"Only the luckiest." Charley stood up and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair.

_ Six. _

"I'll see you next week, friend."

"That is, if I'm alive."

"Mr. Kringas!"

He quickly fastened the buttons and shoved open the heavy wooden door, fast enough to disregard the shrink's cold huff. He sped through the lobby and out the front door, greeted by pouring rain. The street ahead could be mistaken for a river.

He plunged his hands into his pockets and started down the sidewalk.

He hated therapy. He hated the empty feeling that followed.

**Author's Note:**

> found this in my drafts


End file.
